


Bonfire Night

by Cuptivate



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bonfires, F/M, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Traditional Food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 11:29:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12911001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuptivate/pseuds/Cuptivate
Summary: Sometimes Bilbo forgets she is small.





	Bonfire Night

**Author's Note:**

> My very first fan fic.  
> Hopefully one of many.  
> Please be kind.

"Yer sighs will have granite crumble with pity if ye not careful, lass," a deep gravelly voice says behind you, making you jump.

"Dwalin!" you exclaim with a squeak, before slumping back down in relief. You must be truly distracted by your misery if the big warrior in his iron boots and with his clanking weapons can sneak up on you. "What are you doing up here?" you ask meekly, looking back down over the merriment in the square. The people of Dale are laughing loudly and singing and their bonfire burns brightly.

"Could ask ye the same question," he replies gruffly, sitting down next to you high up on the watch wall where you found yourself a little hidden alcove.

You hum nondescript, trying to ignore his searching eyes.

He shuffles into a more comfortable position, leaning his big frame against the pillar beside him. "Ye've been all up and excited about this day for weeks, going on and on about the bonfires in the Shire; yet today yer sitting up here with a face that could get milk to curdle."

You snort. "Shouldn't you be saying 'an anvil to melt', Master Dwarf" you tease.

He shrugs. "Must be a hobbit rubbing off on me somehow."

Giving him a toothy little grin you dangle your legs, looking back down where couples begin jumping over the bonfire to the cheers of all the ones watching.

"So, are ye going to tell me what's troubling ye or do I have to get Dori to fuss over ye?" he tries again.

You roll your eyes. You do like Dori's fussing, you really do. Nobody has been fussing over you in a very long time after all. Not since your parents died. And certainly not during the quest, where you encountered a fair amount of distrust and cautious looks and dark glares from the rest of the Company; in the beginning anyway. But with all that happened on the journey, and with the Arkenstone and the banishment, the battle and your injuries afterwards, the whole Company is now taking such good care of you. Always making sure you eat and sleep and are comfortable.

It is nice. It's just ... a bit too much fussing sometimes. The only one that doesn't fuss as much, although is not any less observant and seems to have a much more practical approach is Dwalin.

Gruff, scowling, tattooed, big Dwalin.

The tall warrior hasn't said more than two words to you on the whole journey. But ever since you sliced through the muscles in the back of Azog's knees, giving Thorin the opening he needed to decapitate the pale orc, Dwalin is like a living shadow. Even if he's not close physically, you can always feel his eyes on you from across the room or across the hall. It is quite a nice feeling. Of course he would be the one to find you now, even though you think your hiding spot is a pretty good one.

"I'm fine," you mumble, rubbing your nose. "Just decided to watch from up here. It's a good view."

"Hm," he says, clearly not believing a word.

You sit in silence and smile wistfully when the sounds of laughter and cheer rings up from the fire, while your dangling legs tense every time someone jumps as if they wanted to jump, too. You sigh again.

"Lass," Dwalin demands softly, "Tell me."

Giving him a sad little smile you wrinkle your nose. "It's my fault, really. I got myself excited over something I oughtn't have." Another sigh.

Dwalin waits patiently, his eyes trained on you.

"The bonfires in the Shire I was telling about ... I haven't really been to any of them since I was very young, before my parents died. After ... well, I went once but sat on my own but ..." You rub your nose once more, mumbling. "It's not much fun when you've only yourself to jump with. So I thought, now, that I have friends, I'll have someone to take me. But I forgot about something." You gesture towards the ginormous fire. "It's a _big_ people's fire. And I'm a hobbit. Even with help I'll never be able to jump over that. Not without getting the hairs on my feet singed right off ... and I've avoided that even with Smaug. So, no thank you. No bonfire for little old me." You sigh again, pulling up your legs to curl yourself into a little ball, your chin resting on your knees. "So I'm just a little bit sad tonight. But I'll be fine again tomorrow," you say quietly.

Dwalin doesn't respond but scooches closer and slings a heavy arm around your shoulder. It's a nice kind of heavy, warm and comfortable, and you lean into him.Together you sit in silence for a while before he removes his arm. You pout before trying to arrange your expression into something more neutral, but he catches you, looking at you intently.

You blush and look away.

Without saying anything he reaches into a pocked and pulls out a small pouch, opening it and holding it out to you.

"What's this?" you ask.

"Ye tell me," he replies, shaking the pouch invitingly, face giving nothing away.

Tentatively you reach inside the pouch and ... your eyes widen. Your fingers close around a small piece and you pull it out. Sniffing it, you stare at Dwalin. "Tom Trot," you whisper, putting it into your mouth, immediately closing your eyes and moaning when the rich taste of the sweet floods your taste buds. Lost for words you sit and enjoy the treat that reminds you so much of your childhood, and of home, when home was still good and innocent.

Once you find your voice again you look at Dwalin, who is watching you with the strangest expression. He shakes the pouch again, urging you to take another piece - which you do.

"How?" you begin, after another blissful taste explosion in your mouth. "How do you have Tom Trot?"

Dwalin shrugs. "Ye told me about it."

You stare at him, dimly remembering that you rattled down your favourite bonfire foods and their recipes one evening a few weeks back, after everyone had retired for the night and you had gone up to the battlements to enjoy your pipe, joined by Dwalin.

You nod. "I did," you agree, "But you listened? To the point of remembering the recipe?"

He shrugs again, as if it is nothing. "I always listen to ye, lass."

You look at him, and it's like you see him, truly see him, for the first time. He's right. He always listens to you. Only now you realize how often he is actually with you. And how much you like that he is with you that often. How you feel ... like something's missing ... when he's not there.

You smile at him, trying to blink the threatening tears away. Clearing your throat you gesture to the pouch. "You ... you have some," you suggest.

With a nod, he fishes a piece of Tom Trot out of the pouch and shoves it into his mouth. You study his face, waiting for that expression of delight. It takes a moment, then his eyes light up and he makes an appreciative sound. "Very nice this," he grunts, "Very nice indeed, lass."

Grinning from ear to ear bump your shoulder against his in a conspiratory sort of way - he probably doesn't even feel it, but it's the thought that counts.

He holds the pouch out for you to take another piece, before packing it away again. You watch him curiously as he gets up. "Will ye come with me, lass? Down from your perch to join the merriment?" he asks.

Your eyes dart uncertain to the big bonfire once more.

"Trust me, lass," he says and holds out his hand, "Come with me."

You place your hand into his and let him pull you to your feet. Without letting go he turns and makes his way along the wall, carefully placing his feet where the stone is broken, before reaching the ladder. He climbs down first and holds it while you follow. Taking your hand once more you expect him to lead you back to the town square, but he turns the other way, walking back towards the mountain.

"Where are we going," you ask, sounding a bit worried.

He gives your hand a little squeeze. "Ye see. Almost there." Following the wall for a bit you suddenly round a corner and you dig in your heels in surprise as you see the bonfire. The _hobbit sized_ bonfire. You just make out the figures of the Company sitting around it.

"Dwalin," you breathe.

"Aye, lass?" Your eyes fill with tears when he looks at you fondly.

"You have done this?" you ask with a choke, gesturing towards the bonfire, fighting a battle against those tears and loosing as they spill over and run down your face.

He steps closer, eyes full of concern now. "Aye, I did. Is it not good?" he asks worriedly.

Snorting, you shake your head. "It's ... it's w-wonderful," you stammer, "You did this for me?"

"Aye lass. Couldn't have ye disappointed on yet another bonfire night. So, when I spotted the little problem with the size difference ... I knew I had to give ye yer very own bonfire. Complete with some of the treats ye've been talking about. The other's helped, obviously, so ..." He trails off. "I've not once seen ye cry, lass, not during the quest, not after. Are these happy tears?" He lifts a hand and gently brushes over your wet cheeks, before carefully cupping your face.

You lean into his touch and smile up at him through your tears. "I did cry, once or twice, on the quest, but yes, these are happy tears."

He hums and rubs a thumb over the skin near your lips, making you shiver. "I like these much better then. And I'll do my best to see more of them," he mumbles quietly, his eyes dark and full of promise.

Turning back to the bonfire, he tugs at your hand and drags you along. The others cheer when they see you and there's hugs all around, even though Dwalin never lets go of your hand and growls in Khuzdul at some of them (Bofur, Kili), when they hold you too long. You can't help but grin from ear to ear as the warrior settles you down next to him.

Bombur sidles up and hands you a some Toad in a hole. Smiling widely at Dwalin you devour it. The sausage is perfectly spicy and the batter wonderfully crisp. Then Bofur is digging in the fire and fishing out cup sized containers, emptying a couple of them onto a plate, Bombur working some magic over them and when he hands it to you you let out a sound between a gasp and a moan at the sight of the jacket potatoes, some with butter and herbs and some with cheese; and your dwarrow laugh heartily at your delight.

Thorin lifts his mug. "To our dear hobbit. May this be the first of many bonfires to come." And they all cheer, making you tear up once more. So much love comes from them, just for you, it's a bit overwhelming, really.

Dwalin hands you his own mug to share, watching you carefully while you drink. When you give it back your hands touch, and you hold onto the mug a little longer than strictly necessary, just to prolong the feeling of his big, warm hands over yours.

Soon there is just as much merrymaking around your bonfire as there is around the human's bonfire in Dale. Singing and laughing, bawdy jokes - courtesy of Bofur, naturally - and delicious food. While the fire burns down nicely, Bombur brings out toffee apples and Parkin, and your dwarrow chew on the sweet oatmeal cake enthusiastically and comment most positively on your traditions.

You cannot believe that Dwalin paid this much attention to your ramblings. Blushing a little you realize you may have said a great deal more over the weeks than is respectable. Then again, you tried for so long to be a respectable hobbit until you almost choked on it. Once they had warmed up to you, the Company didn’t much care about what’s considered respectable in the Shire, but they did care about you. You compliment Bombur on having followed the recipes so splendidly; you know well it is no mean feat to create a dish without knowing what it is supposed to look like nor what it is supposed to taste like. The round dwarf is beyond happy about your words.

When the dancing flames of the bonfire are settling somewhat Dwalin gets to his feet and holds out his hand. "Ye coming, lass?" You jump up immediately, placing your small fingers in his callused ones and follow him around the fire where your dwarrow shuffled aside to create an opening of sorts and Dwalin starts into a sprint, tugging you along, taking the leap over the fire with you.

Squealing with joy and happiness you jump across the flames many more times. Kili takes you, and Fili. Bofur, of course, and Bifur, Ori and Nori. Dori, too. Even Balin and Thorin take you once each. Bombur excuses himself, but he hands you a mug every now and then, and more food, and you hug him for it.

In fact, you hug all of them, more than once. You are breathless and your belly is full and you cannot remember the last time you have been this happy. And all the time Dwalin stays by your side, watching you, making sure you're alright.

You hug him, too. And you don't let go for a while. And you don't complain when his strong arms hold on to you just the same. You sigh and look up at him with a smile. "Thank you," you whisper, squeezing him as hard as you can. Which means he probably feels nothing, but again, it's the thought that counts.

"Yer welcome, lass," he mumbles into your hair while you bury your face in his beard. It is a nice feeling. A very nice feeling. When you let go - very reluctantly - you cannot help but look over his shoulder into the distance, thinking what you would do right now if you were in the Shire. You honestly cannot remember if you told him about that tradition, too, while you were rambling about bonfire nights and rattling down recipes, but you are pretty sure you did not. You hope you did not.

He watches you very intensely, his eyes sharp, and you realize you did tell him.

Ah, well.

You blush and avert his gaze, stepping back from him.

Dwalin hums a little and holds out his hand again. "Lass?" he asks quietly, his gruff voice so very soft. He looks over his shoulder, into the same distance you were looking into just moments ago.

Your heart beats really loudly in your chest.

When he looks back at you it's a question, and there is so much fondness and love in his eyes that you take his hand without hesitation. He grabs a torch from the side and lights it at the bonfire before he leads you away and you realize that the Company are all but quiet now, raptly watching the interaction between the two of you. You're pretty sure you hear coins being tossed back and forth as soon as you are a little way away.

It's not a long walk, along the outer wall of Dale, and then a bit off it. You follow Dwalin and the light of the torch he carries until you reach a little clearing that has shrubbery all around it, and a dead tree to one side.

Dwalin pulls you to a spot just before the tree. "Just stay there for a moment, lass," he says, and you obey, watching him as he walks around and lights a few candles. He extinguishes the torch and it takes a few moments for your eyes to adjust.

The tree glitters.

You take in a shuddering breath. Taking your hand again he leads you right under the tree, the dead branches reaching into the starry, moonlit sky above you.

It is a dead tree and yet it glitters.

"You've made cherry blossoms," you whisper to your dwarf, because really, that is what he is.

"Aye, I did," Dwalin nods.

"How?" you wonder.

"Rose quartz, ruby, garnet, pink diamonds," he explains, matter of factly, like it is nothing that he created cherry blossoms out of gemstones just to recreate a tradition of the Shire for you.

You smile at him. "You are a dwarf," you say.

"Aye, that I am," he agrees with a chuckle, the corners of his mouth curling up, "No doubt about that."

"You are also wonderful," you say, standing on tiptoes and reaching up to wrap your arms around his strong neck.

Dwalin hums as his arms encircle your waist. "As are you, lass," he murmurs.

"You'll have to say my name, Dwalin," you mumble against his mouth.

His lips brush against yours."Bilbo," he murmurs, "My Bilbo."

And then he kisses you.

**Author's Note:**

> There are many 'traditional' bonfire nights around the world. I've settled on Walpurgisnacht, which is celebrated at the end of April in many parts of Europe, as I needed it to be in spring, and I also needed the cherry blossoms. It is a tradition in some areas for couples to kiss under the blossoms of cherry trees, a remnant from pagan times, which was meant to bring fertility to the women. I like cherry blossoms, so there.  
> Tom Trot is a hard, brittle toffee made of treacle  
> Toad in a hole consists of sausages set in a pillow of crispy batter  
> Jacket potatoes are potatoes cooked in their skin served with a variety of toppings  
> Parkin is a traditional sponge cake flavoured with molasses, oatmeal and ginger  
> Surely everyone knows toffee apples - smile.  
> If you like visuals: I have a Pinterest page dedicated to my fanfic, this story has its own board:  
> https://www.pinterest.com.au/cuptivate/ - there is also an adorable image of a female Bilbo that inspired me to this story


End file.
